


Lifeline

by Katherine Gilbert (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:37:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Katherine%20Gilbert
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Katherine Gilbert.





	Lifeline

"She still doesn't know me at all." 

Michael continued to stare at the doors of his room in Medlab long after Nikita had left him, his mind constantly repeating this single, depressing thought. "How could she not understand me better after all these years?" 

He had told Nikita the truth. He was not the father of Terry's child; he wasn't her lover. He had looked at no one romantically or sexually but Nikita since Simone's death. He didn't even process those sorts of thoughts outside of her. . . . How could she not know that? 

He had hoped that their recent closeness on the Armel mission would change things between them, that it would help her to understand the depths of his feelings for her. Evidently, though, it hadn't. 

He sighed and leaned back, staring at the wall in front of him. The last few weeks had been terrible. Operations had made it clear--again--that he was not happy with Nikita's approach to her work--with her continued compassion. He had set Michael to the task of eliminating her emotions yet again, had ordered him to crush her as much as necessary to achieve this end. 

He looked toward the doors once more. He just couldn't do it; he didn't *want* to consciously manipulate her again. Their relationship was still so fragile; Nikita still acted too much like a beaten animal around him—watching him to see when the next blow would fall. 

He looked down at the floor and allowed himself to realize--briefly--that her fear wasn't entirely unjustified. He had hurt her enough in the past to make her understandably wary of him. 

He wasn't trying to hurt her this time, though. More than anything, he wanted to protect her. Although he didn't think that Operations would cancel her if she didn't change, he knew that the older man was more than capable of finding punishments which were at least as bad, if not worse. 

Michael closed his eyes. Operations didn't understand what he was doing to her. He was so determined to remake her into his own image that he ignored the fact that his plan would destroy her. 

Nikita couldn't survive without emotion. He opened his eyes again and traced the pattern on the doors. Without her feelings--however inconvenient they were at times, she was useless, incapable of functioning. He, Madeline, Operations,. . . most of the Section could work quite well--or better--without them, . . .but Nikita *wasn't* most of Section. 

Operations could never understand that. He simply couldn't comprehend people with souls. To him, they were weak . . . useless. When, like Nikita, they proved to be more efficient than many of those without them, he became confused. His faulty logic broke down. 

Michael stared at the wall across from him again. Nikita was firmly in the top 10%, as far as cold ops. went, and she was improving all the time; her skill and accuracy were astounding. Logically, Michael thought, she should be left to work in her own way, unless her efficiency level dropped. Operations, though, simply couldn't stand to be proven wrong. 

He sighed. Perversely, he had--to an extent--been rather happy when told to keep an eye on Nikita. After all, it gave him an excuse to stay close to her. He had known, though, what the assignment had really meant, and it had scared him. 

In many ways, he was used to his roles in Nikita's life; he was both protector and enforcer. He hated, though, that he should be forced to do either. 

There were other roles he wanted with her, ones he dreamed about: lover . . .friend. The former was actually easier for him to achieve than the latter, but both were impossibilities full-time in Section. . . . Both required trust. 

Michael knew that, as a man, he was capable of inspiring this emotion, was worthy of it. As an operative--as a trainer, though . . . Nikita would have to be a complete fool to place her trust in him. These sides of his personality, after all, had destroyed her more times than he could remember. 

He sighed again and closed his eyes. In his dreams--his fantasies, Nikita entrusted her soul to his keeping, and he protected it against all odds. He opened his eyes. In reality, though, he was the cruelest enemy she could have. . . inestimably dangerous to her, because she cared for him. 

He wanted to be able to tell her everything--to have her understand him. . . . He couldn't, though; it was too dangerous, especially given Operations' recent mood. . . . Their closeness had been used to hurt her too many times. 

That she cared for him was obvious, though. . . . But she also believed that he was capable of saying he cared for her while fathering another woman's child. He shook his head. It seemed insoluble. 

This was a problem he had never had with Simone. She had understood. Even if he *had* fathered Terry's child, she would have known that it had been done on orders and, therefore, didn't count. 

Simone, of course, was different from Nikita; she had been more like him. They both repressed their feelings, did their work--no matter how painful or brutal, and went on with what they were allowed to of their lives. The only time their emotions had surfaced had been when they were alone together, but they had understood the depths of the other's love at all times, nonetheless. 

Nikita wasn't like that, though. For her, a full seduction mission would degrade her soul--and her sense of self--irrevocably. Sex, to her, was about consent, not orders or missions. She would never really be able to understand his approach to it, when it wasn't with her, . . . or, at least, he hoped she wouldn't. 

Michael repressed a shudder and moved his mind down a different path. Because his fear--and the threat of Operations' orders--kept him from opening up to her, he couldn't explain his relationship with Terry and why this last mission had been about trying to protect her, as well. 

Terry was, . . . no, she wasn't a friend, but he had known and respected her for almost a decade. He had been assigned to her when she was still a recruit, had been sent in to crush her feelings. What he had found, though, was that Terry was much like himself and Simone. She was capable of dividing her life into compartments. Her emotions, therefore, were no danger to her missions. 

She had allowed Michael to "seduce" her, however--forcing him to carry it through completely. Later, when he had gotten out of her bed to leave mask back in place, ready to tell her of his manipulation, she had simply watched him and laughed slightly. "Don't you think I know?" she had said. 

Despite himself, he had been impressed by her, as had Simone. His wife had actually found his inability to charm the recruit, along with her reversing the manipulation on him, amusing. She and Terry had become friends, and Michael had just watched, happy to allow Simone any outlet Section would permit her. 

His respect for Terry had begun then. She could look any Section manipulation in the eye and stare it down. She was also one of the best ops. there was, completely competent. 

She would actually have gone much farther in Section if she had had any ambition. She didn't, though. She was more than content being a team member rather than a leader, although she would take on this latter role if necessary. 

There had only been one crack in her armor before now, and that had been her relationship with Jonas. Although they had tried to keep it quiet, it had of course--gotten back to Operations. Michael had never been told specifically, but he suspected that Jonas' capture and murder had been smiled upon--if not planned--by Section's chief in order to keep her in line. 

It had been all of this which had led Michael to try to protect her this time. Nikita, however, couldn't know this and, therefore, hadn't trusted him. He hadn't been testing her, though, when he had asked about Terry; he had needed to understand the more-experienced operative's problem, had been trying not to pull her from the mission--knowing where that would lead. Without information, though, he had been unsure how to help her. There had been little he could do, anyway; once he had discovered what was happening, he had done what he could by keeping quiet to Operations and counseling abortion to Terry. 

He hadn't lied to Nikita; he didn't know for certain what happened to the children of Section's agents. What he did know were rumors--that the children were not adopted, canceled, or even sold, any of which might have some element of mercy. No, what he heard was that they were psychological experiments--raised to be Section's guinea pigs--agents from a tender age. Murder, manipulation, and covert ops. became their education, and their souls were smothered before they had ever had the chance to develop. 

He knew this wasn't what Terry wanted for her child--no sane person would. He had gone by her apartment to try to convince her of this. As little as she may have wanted an abortion, he knew it was better than to condemn an innocent to a life that steeped in blood. 

Michael winced slightly--the image of Nikita flashing across his mind. He buried the thought and continued on his current path. He hadn't known that Terry had found another way. He had underestimated how far she would go. . . .He was thankful, though, that--even in her desperation--she had refused to hurt him or Nikita. 

Michael closed his eyes for a second. Nikita's pull was too strong; his thoughts returned to her again, as though they were returning home. He opened his eyes, wondering what Nikita would have done in similar circumstances. 

"She would have run." The answer appeared all too clearly to him. She simply wouldn't have gone home one night, and--like Terry--she wouldn't have cared what happened to her as long as her child was well. 

He closed his eyes again, the thoughts pulling at his heart. He knew whose child he was imagining it being . . . his; there wasn't another option in his mind. 

He had thought about it too often, had fantasized about them living a normal, boring life. He shut his eyes more tightly. To hold a child--*his* child--with Nikita's face . . . the thought was overpowering. To have a life with her where they could raise the result of their love together was his dearest wish.. . . "Just to be able to hold her as we slept again, to feel her soft breath on my chest, . . . to anticipate that nightly." 

Michael opened his eyes once more and tried to blink the thoughts away. He a dead, French man--had a better chance of being elected President of the United States than of being able to live with Nikita. He shook his head, wishing he could get such dangerous thoughts under control, . . . knowing he couldn't. 

It still hurt him, however, that Nikita knew him so little. Admittedly, he had only recently confessed that the tale of his son had been another manipulation--just another twist to force her sympathy during the war with Red Cell. He had let her believe it for almost a year and a half, too; he simply hadn't been able to tell her about yet another lie between them, given her anger after that painful mission. And--the longer the lie had remained unchallenged--the less he had been able to confront it. 

He needed Nikita's trust now, though, to keep her alive, despite all the reasons he had given her not to. The fact that she had made it clear just the other day that she was still more interested in quality than quantity of life scared him, and he tried not to think about it. He knew he was going to keep her alive, whether she wanted to be or not; he needed her, and that closed the issue for him. He just wished that she would feel the same need for him. 

He closed his eyes and lay further back to try to sleep, wondering whether he would ever prove himself to her enough to earn her trust. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Nikita went home from Section that day fighting off crying jags. She felt betrayed and weak. Worst of all, though, she felt like she was regressing. 

She never knew where she and Michael stood, admittedly; she had had to accept that. Still, there were times when she felt she understood him knew who he was. Every time she did, though, she seemed to learn she was wrong. 

She wiped her eyes again and continued driving. Michael had told her he wasn't the father of Terry's child, but the pause before his answer had worried her. He seemed to be sizing up her reaction before giving his response. 

Nikita knew what hurt her the most about the whole idea, too, and it made her heart ache to think about it. It was that she was jealous--not so much of Terry herself but of *anyone* who might be in her role with Michael. 

She knew, however, that she couldn't have children in Section, and she didn't want to find herself in Terry's position; she *hated* what was being done to her. She stopped at a red light. If she closed her eyes, though, Nikita could *feel* the bond which held her to Michael. It was an umbilical cord of sorts, a lifeline, even if their relationship had nothing to do with parent and child. The car behind her honked, and she opened her eyes to continue on. 

The cord which connected them, however, was not one which could be cut. God knows, she had tried--had tried to rid herself of her love for him. Michael, too, had certainly made his efforts at severing it, with his lies, manipulations, and betrayals. . . . It hadn't worked, though; the damn thing was still there. 

It was this very bond, however, that made her doubts about him so painful. She wanted to believe that he was faithful to her, in a Section sense missions aside, that she wasn't just one of dozens he was stringing along. She still worried, though, that she was simply another Viscano to him--just another operative he needed to crush the soul from. 

Operations, after all, had told her that he intended to see this done. He had almost warned her to beware of upcoming manipulations. . . . If the situation with Terry hadn't been so painfully real, she could almost believe that it had all been done for her benefit--as a test. 

She shook her head. . . . No. She could feel it. This was real. . . . What, then, did she make of Michael? 

He still watched her possessively, sometimes. He was still answering her questions, when she asked, as well, . . . even if she sometimes didn't like the answers. 

It had hurt her to find out that the tale of his son had just been another part of Section's manipulation of her emotions during the war with Red Cell--their final assurance that she would break rather than see Michael harmed. It had probably hurt her just as much, though, that he had taken a year and a half to finally admit it--and only then when she had directly asked about it. It was the sort of reminder she didn't need of his duplicity. It only made her even more convinced that he might be Terry's lover. 

Nikita sighed and finally pulled into her garage. She had been so certain of Michael's feelings after the Armel mission, had thought that she understood his love for her. Now, though, she half-thought she should just feel used. 

She slammed her car door and headed toward her apartment. It didn't help matters any that she almost wished she *was* in Terry's position, if Michael were the father. She wanted to feel a life they had created growing inside of her. . . . She wanted to be able to wake in his arms again, away from Section's cameras. . . . Why wasn't life ever that simple? 

She snorted at herself, as she opened her apartment door. Yeah, right. She turned more serious, as she locked it and drummed her fingers lightly on the frame. She should feel lucky; she could have been in Terry's place a few times this year. Her night on the boat with Michael had been especially stupid, in that sense. They had been damn fortunate that they hadn't been faced with Terry's dilemma then. 

Nikita hung up her coat and dumped her keys on the kitchen counter before starting to make some tea. She wondered how Michael would have reacted, if that had happened. Would he have pushed her toward abortion, as he obviously had Terry? Would he have tried to find some way out for them and their child?. . . Would he even have cared? 

She shook her head, watching her kettle, knowing this was a stupid thing to worry about. . . . It didn't stop her, though. She sighed. She could admit a bit now that there had been some changes for the better between Michael and herself. That didn't change the fact, however, that the last several days had made her feel like their relationship had regressed by more than a year. He seemed too much like the Michael who had continuously manipulated her in her first year as an operative, rather than the one who had held her in his arms on the Armel mission. 

She shook her head, broken from her reverie by the whistling of her kettle. She hoped she was wrong, she pondered, as she poured her tea. She needed to feel she could trust him, that his emotions were real. . . . She just didn't know, though. 

Nikita took her tea and walked over to stare out of her French doors into the night. She loved Michael, but he had destroyed her trust so often--even recently--that she found it difficult to repair it once more. 

She shook her head again and sipped her tea, trying to force her mind onto a different track. She couldn't blame Terry for her actions today, really. Overall, they weren't much different from what she would have done-- minus Bates, of course. And the other woman *had* tried to protect them from the rogue agent, too, even killing him herself, when no other option appeared. 

Nikita wondered, though, what Terry's motives in befriending her might have been. Had she known about her pregnancy before they had started talking more regularly? Had she been looking for an ally who was a confidante (if such a thing existed) of Michael's--someone with leverage? If so, although it said nothing good for her motives with Nikita, it did suggest that Michael wasn't her lover; if he were, she probably would have had better leverage with him than Nikita herself. 

It was also possible, however, that--if Terry had known about her situation before she and Nikita became friends--she was just looking for someone to talk to--someone to sympathize with her. Most of the people--male and female in Section really weren't capable of that. Maybe she had just recognized a kindred spirit. 

Nikita shook her head. She had no idea what to make of it all. She was more than a bit curious, though, about what she would have done, if it had been her.. . . Would she have even *told* Michael? Would she have just run--and left him to sort out why . . . left him a note, maybe? She wasn't sure. There was only one thing she was certain of; it never once occurred to her that the father of her child would be anyone but Michael. 

Nikita continued sipping her tea and leaned her shoulder against the door. These past few weeks had left her with more unresolved emotions than she had had for sometime. She only felt certain of two things; she had lost a good friend in Terry today--whatever the other woman's motives had been in talking to her originally, . . . and her love for Michael was an insoluble puzzle. 

She sighed and looked down at her cup, saying a prayer for one and shedding a tear about the other, before turning away from her window. She finished off her tea, wiped her eyes, and went to turn off her stove before going to bed, hoping her dreams would at least give her some peace from the pain she shared with Michael through their invisible bond.


End file.
